


Victories

by suliel



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Bittersweet, Emotionally heavy, F/M, Fluff, Scars, Second Chances, Strong Female Characters, mature romance, not in a porn way but in a like actual adult relationship problems way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-22 09:24:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suliel/pseuds/suliel
Summary: Thranduil is tasked with entertaining a group of visiting royalty as the elvish kingdoms draft new alliances and treaties; through this, he meets a mysterious and battle-scarred Princess who makes efforts to help him come to terms with his own scars.(Edit: expanding from one shots into a full story past chapter 4. continued synapses: )He convinces her to stay with himin Mirkwood, but will their choice to be together bring good or bad for their peoples?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DeputyMom62](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeputyMom62/gifts).



The princess of the southern tribes was finally alone; lingering behind in the King’s torch-lit council room as her father and younger brothers departed for the feast.

The King himself watched with cautious eyes, eyeing the ellith suspiciously. He had female guards and rangers and scouts, yes, but a princess as an army general? Preposterous. It was too dangerous to put the crown princess on the battlefield! She ought to stay within the kingdom, watch over the people while her father and brothers ride into battle. Even the thought of putting his own son on a battlefield nearly broke his resolve; but a daughter? So fair and delicate a sex as an ellith, on the battlefield?

But there she was sitting, re-reviewing the alliance drafts, clad in unfamiliar leather armor, arms bared save for a few leather bands on her forearms and wrists, the marks of battle... and other things spreading across her skin.

Seeing the thick and pearly scars carving into her flesh filled him with a deep-rooted anger, and, now that her father was gone, he was free to question her without offending his fellow king.

“Why do your father and brothers send you into battle?” He demanded from the doorway, standing tall and commanding.

“Hm? Apologies, King Thranduil, I did not realize you had also stayed behind,” She stated smoothly, rolling up one of the documents. “And you make the mistake of thinking _he_ sends _me_ into battle. No, _I_ lead _them_ into battle.”

“That is preposterous!” He started, cold and demanding of answers that befitted his agenda. “Your brothers ought protect you from such violence and danger. And how can you stand to parade yourself around with your scars out for every passing elf to see? Can you not cover them in glamour, or have the decency to cover your flesh?”

He saw something dark snap in her eyes and waited for some feminine fit of hissy anger; but instead, she removed her leather bands and bracers and placed her arms on the table, fists made, even more scars on display.

“Do my victories offend you?” She asked in a slow, quiet, but powerful tone, like the secret but undeniable force the moon has on the tides. He was momentarily taken aback, unable to tear his eyes away from her scarred flesh.

“Excuse me?”

“Do my victories offend you,” She began in a slower, more powerful tone. “I have lead our armies to victory with these hands. Every scar I bear upon them is a mark of those victories. Do my victories offend you?”

He furrowed his brow; he had not considered a scar in such a way. To him— scarred as he himself was— they were marks of failure. You made a mistake and paid for it. You didn’t parry a blow forcefully enough, you didn’t leap out of harm’s way quickly enough.

But there she was, flexing her wrists so that her scars would catch the light. Some were almost unnoticeable, simply smooth, pale lines upon her skin. Others, however, were puckered and textured, or dark and fresh. Her left shoulder had clearly been mauled by some sort of beast, and there was the unmistakable deep puncture of a spear injury in her right forearm.

“No, they do not,” He answered in a slow growl, tentative about where she was directing the conversation.

She stood suddenly, slamming her palms down on the table.

“Then what offends you?”

“You’re an ellith!” He snapped immediately. “You do not deserve to scarred so! Your place is not on the battlefield, it is in the kingdom, safe and managing the people!”

“I have made the battlefield my kingdom!” She stated boldly, countering his words. “And you will find that I manage it far better than my father or my brothers ever could! Maybe I do not deserve my scars. But I have _earned_ them,”

She marched up to him, shoulders squared, feet planted in a solid stance, words strong and firm.

“Do not impose your own insecurities upon my skin,” She began shortly. “I am proud of my victories. I should only hope that you find pride in your own, as well.”

And she was rushing out past him, hair swishing behind herself as she went. He was both angered and intrigued; she had offended him, yes, but also imposed questions he’d never pondered and opened doors he’d never known in his mind.

After a while, he rejoined the other royals at the festivities, and found himself carefully watching the behavior of the four visiting royals.

She was right— her two younger brothers were too eager and young to ever be good politicians or generals. They were wild with youth, and he almost laughed at Legolas watched them with a look os amused surprise as the two other princes tried to involve him in their trickery. A few moments later, however, Elrond’s sons found the two and the four made off to cause nonsense elsewhere.

The foreign king was a reserved and quiet man, a wise leader but far too soft. He spoke in gentle tones and had the soft-edged look of a philosopher, holding deep wisdom but no such authoritative power.

The princess, however, was clearly a born commander— Tall and proud, short in words and quick in wit. She engaged for the perfect amount of time, with the exact level of polite reservedness, before vanishing into the outer gardens.

He rose and excused himself to follow her, finding her leaning on a balcony railing and looking to the stars.

“I apologize for my... shortness with you earlier.” He apologized, though his tone was still prideful and cold. “I meant no offense.”

She made a noncommittal hum in response and didn’t look to meet his eyes.

“Do not bother yourself with an apology. I am used to it,” She stated calmly, scars glittering pale in the thin moonlight. “It is the nature of all good beings to care for the safety of their women.”

He had nothing to add to her statement and so simply joined her in consideration of the stars.

“I apologize for accusing you of not considering your own scars victories,” She began after a few moments of silence. “It is not my place to impose my own mindset upon one above me.”

He thought carefully of his response before speaking.

“It was I who first shamed you for being proud of your scars. It seems our misunderstandings have been our downfalls in negotiations.”

“I cannot contest that,” She offered in a light tone. “But... I should very much appreciate honoring your victories, if you should allow me the honor.”

He looked to her, understanding her words but hesitating to comply. But the whole point of entertaining them as guests was to foster trust and alliance— and besides, if she were so accustomed to the battlefield, the sight would not offend her. Still, it was a tall request to say the least.

But slowly, he let the glamour fall, and the burn scar revealed itself. He watched her expression carefully and found a quiet and respectful fascination, her eyes flicking almost unnoticeably to catch every detail of the mark.

It felt vaguely intrusive, but... comforting at the same time, that she drew closer instead of away. Once it was completely gone and his scar was on full display, he found in her expression nothing but awe and respect.

“You must have vanquished a great foe, to have such a victory placed upon you,” She stated softly, reaching up a little with light fingers. “May I?”

He offered no answer but closed his eyes, curious. He felt no touch but sensed the proximity of her fingers, just barely hovering over the mark, before he felt the unmistakable sensation of a light kiss upon his cheekbone, barely there and yet a sensation as heavy on the heart as lead weights. It had been so long since he’d been graced with such gentle and personal touch— from before he even had the mark.

He opened his eyes and she had already drawn away, a honored and respectful look of awe on her young face.

“Your kingdom is in worthy hands. I will tell my father to settle all agreements. Consider our alliance completed.”


	2. To Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks @DeputyMom62 for egging me on to continue this fic. I’m not sure how far I can take it since it wasn’t initially just a one-prompt run, but I though I might as well try writing a touch more :)

When he rejoined the party he found her watching the dancing couples curiously. It was a traditional dance of Mirkwood, to be done in pairs, and all the Mirkwood elves seemed a little... afraid of her, so she stood by herself on the sideline.

He approached her slowly.

“Would you like to dance?”

She looked to him and snorted, leaning casually against a wall, her hands crossed over her chest.

“I can’t dance like this.”

He raised a brow.

“Why not?”

“Let’s put it this way. Do you see how my brothers are dancing?”

He looked over to where her brothers were teaching Elladan and Elrohir a very beat-heavy and tribal dance. They seemed to be mimicking birds of prey, stomping around in a circle with their arms out, their feet moving rhythmically to the beat. Thranduil was immediately alarmed. Even as Elladan and Elrohir copied the movements and danced along, he could not imagine moving his body like that publicly.

“That is how my people dance. Would you dance like that?”

He hesitated. Ah, he could see what she was doing now. That was her teaching style. To ask questions until the person realized it on their own. He decided to catch her off guard, to show her up, to turn her teaching moment on it’s head.

“I will if you will.”

The response blindsided her and even though it was just for a moment he was rewarded with the sight of her dumbfounded and stunned, her soft lips parted in a small o of surprise. She recovered quickly, though, a wry smile crossing her expression in it’s stead.

“Oh? Well, let’s begin. Teach me your dance, my King.”

He felt a hint, a flutter of nervousness. He was no dancer, not even in his own cultural dances. But what was he supposed to do, back down? Let her win? Never.

He took position for the first step and decided to give her fair game and actually teach her the lighthearted waltz. He never liked dancing— he never quite felt good enough about his dancing to be satisfied with doing it publicly— but the desire to prove the princess wrong spurred him on.

It only took a few minutes for her to get into the flow of the steps, though she kept her eyes on her feet almost the entire time. He couldn’t blame her— at least she didn’t step on his toes.

By the third repetition she felt comfortable enough with the dance and looked up at him and suddenly his hands felt very warm holding hers. Thankfully, though, the dance only had four repetitions, so right about when he began to be flustered was when the dance finished.

She stepped back, released him, and clapped her hands together before speaking.

“Well. I’d say that was certainly... an experience.”

Ah! Did his senses betray him, or was that a hesitant wavering in her voice? That single moment of uncertainty almost soothed him for what was to come.

“My turn!”

She turned her head and beckoned her brothers, speaking to them in her people’s dialect. They grinned, nodded, and removed flutes from their sleeves before coming to the Princess’s sides.

“I will teach you the dance of victory. Brothers?”

Her brothers nodded and both began to play an unfamiliar and haunting tune, something victorious and steady. They danced even while they played, stomping and spinning around each other, playing low or high.

The princess pulled back her ceremonial gown— which was a simple, sleeveless overcoat on top of her usual armor that was belted at her waist and reached the floor behind her— and showed him the first four steps.

He felt silly mimicking her, but he refused to be showed up by her. Their people had watched her stumble through his traditional dance, and he wasn’t about to let her have the higher moral ground.

So he copied her dance step for step, and smiled to himself in victory as the song eventually came to a close. They were both out of breath, both with pleased and victorious smiles as they bowed to each other to close their dances for the evening. He escorted her back to the dining area while her brothers taught other guests how to dance, and she spoke up in a respectably surprised tone.

“You surprise me, my King.” She commented cooly, though he could see the approving look in her eyes. He gave a light, dismissive laugh.

“Whatever I can do to make my esteemed guests feel included.”

She laughed back and he could help but continue to laugh along. Stars, when had been the last time he laughed like this?

“I was terrified of stepping on your toes when we danced your dance,” She eventually stated with an exasperatedly amused expression. “Really, why do you dance so close together?”

He snorted and retorted.

“Why must you wave your arms around so much in your dances? Are you trying to fly?”

She laughed.

“It’s a homage to the great eagles. If you listened to the hymn, you would have known!”

He shook his head and found himself chuckling again.

“The closeness in dance represents the closeness of our kindred souls. If you had learned anything about this festival beforehand, _you_ would have known!”

She laughed a moment longer before shaking her head and brushing her hair back briefly.

“Alright, we both came unprepared,” She confessed. “Admit it.”

He chuckled.

“ _You_ came here unprepared and surprised me. I have nothing to more admit.”

He realized too late that he had bought right into her trap as she stepped close with a victorious gleam in her eyes and a confident smirk. My, it seemed she had as much confidence in both her ability as a warrior as she did in her feminine guiles— and was absolutely entitled to the confidence in both counts.

“So you admit that I surprise you?”

He was taken aback but quickly recovered. Every interaction with her felt like a game of wits, each one trying their best to outwit the other. He stood tall and pulled back on his prideful persona, staring down at her with a cocked brow.

“Perhaps. Stay a little longer and I might come to a concrete decision.”

She raised her brows back and her smile grew sly and were his robes always this hot? He couldn’t quite think, or maybe it was that he was thinking just a bit too much.

“Is that an invitation to stay?”

“Maybe,” was all he could muster in response while keeping his cool, controlled exterior. She stepped back and shrugged, and with her distance, his ability to think clearly returned partially.

“Then maybe I will stay,” She stated with finality, opening her arms to him in a mock bow, her scars glowing in the firelight. “If you can provide me a concrete invitation to do so.”

She then left to turn in for the night and he felt the ghost of a dazed smile tease at the corners of his mouth though he refused to let it through. He had already let his image slip enough tonight. Still, this princess, this warrior, this enigma... was too fun not to play with. Like a child, he decided to keep playing with her fire despite knowing full well what he could cause.


	3. Stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! a new chapter of this accidental not-oneshot :) i’m happy to be working on this, as slow as progress is. it’s nice to be writing again.  
> i need to ask, however, would you guys prefer i keep it vague like this (so you all can imagine her however you like) or should i flesh her out as an actual character? leave your thoughts in the comments!

He went looking for her the would-be day of their departure and found her in her guest chambers, sitting at the provided table with a glass of wine in her hand, staring at it with hardened eyes.

He knocked softly on the ajar door; he had just seen her father wander out with a sad look on his countenance. She was silent long enough that he accepted the refusal and began to fully close her door when she spoke softly.

“Enter.”

He slid in slowly, warily. He had gotten to see many sides of her over the course of the treaty-making, but this strange and cold expression was not one, and it unsettled him. The dry carelessness in her eyes seemed so... unlike her.

“Princess?” He asked cautiously. “Are you alright?”

She cleared her throat and gave her head a little shake, and he saw her pull on a smile, though it slid onto her expression like sludge on a pond surface. It didn’t fit.

“Fine. I was just...”

Her voice trailed and she simply dropped the subject with a curt ‘hm’. He approached the adjacent seat and placed his bejeweled hand upon the back.

“May I?”

She made a vague gesture with her hand as if to say ‘suit yourself’ and so he pulled it back and eased into the chair gracefully, leaning one arm on the tabletop calmly to look at her better. He wore no crown or circlet today, and his platinum hair cascaded over his shoulders freely. He noted that she was only half-packed— maybe, just maybe she would stay? He decided to approach the subject gently, with much guidance...

“I saw your father leaving. Did you have a... disagreement?” He asked carefully, slowly, his voice like honey on her ears. She sighed and the sludgey, false smile slid away.

“Not exactly.”

He dared to lean in a little closer, and his hand inched nearer to hers on the tabletop. She looked but did not pull away, so he spoke again.

“What then?”

She sighed again, fiddling with the wine glass.

“He still sees me as his little elfling. He wants to be there for me, to help me, but...”

“Your problems are your own, and you want them left to yourself.” He finished calmly after her voice faltered. She looked over with a little suprise in her eyes and he offered a dry smile in return.

“It seems that’s a stress that plagues many royal families. I felt the same at a time in my life.”

She laughed weakly, shaking your head.

“You are a king if many surprises, Thranduil.”

He returned the laughter with a heavy chuckle of his own.

“I’m only repaying the favor, Princess.”

She made an odd noise between a laugh and a groan and lay her head back, her fingers still tracing the glass in her hands.

“He wants me to stay, you know.”

Her sudden confession caught him a little off-guard— he had been preparing himself to have to drag it out of her, to coax the words from her rosy lips, but once more it seemed that one had blindsided the other.

“And you don’t?” He asked a little too quickly, not quite evaluating the eloquence of his words before voicing them. She shrugged.

“Your kingdom has provided me nothing but kindness and pleasant surprises. But I fear to leave my people for any longer.”

She looked over at him with hollow eyes, and if his eyes weren’t deceiving him, there might have been a little heartache as well.

“You understand, don’t you?” Her voice seemed a little desperate. _You’ve understood me before. Please understand me now._ “I need to be there. I could bear it if something happened and I was here.”

His heart sank a bit at the thought of her leaving, but she was right. He did understand. He couldn’t imagine leaving Mirkwood for anything— a significant reason why the peace conference was held in his kingdom, not theirs— and even the idea of something happening while he was gone ate away at his heart.

“My brothers and my father all are fully packed already.” She continued, searching for a response in his cryptic gaze. “My father... wants me to trust them.”

He hesitated. What should he say? Ask her to stay, and risk her knowing his heart? Ask her to stay, and risk carrying the guilt of taking her away from her people, should some disaster occur? Or tell her to go home, and let her leave his sight?

“What... do you want, Princess?” He asked carefully. She groaned and took a long drink of wine.

“I don’t know anymore. My entire life has been my people. But ever since I came here...”

She looked over at him and the softness in her eyes felt like a blade in his chest. To hell with it. He would not have her leave.

“Stay. Please.” He stated suddenly, going so far as to put his hand over hers. A shiver went through her body— his palm was so warm, and yet she could feel the coolness of the metal in his rings as well. “You have shown me many things in your short time here, Princess, and I should hope that I can show you more.”

She was silent for a time and his hand felt like it was on fire. Did he just make a mistake? Was it too much? It had been too long since he had felt something like this. He didn’t quite know what to do and it unsettled him. Should he move his hand? She was breathing a little quickly— had he made her uncomfortable?

She cleared her throat and broke their gaze, laughing shortly.

“Well then. I suppose I’ll have to unpack.”

Relief washed over him and he rose, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips gently. Oh, he could sing his thanks, if he had the brazenness to do so. But no, he only smiled at her kindly.

“I am honored, Princess. I shall leave you to it.”

She smiled back lightly.

“I shall see you again, then.”

He bowed his head slight and left, the thrum of victory buzzing in his veins. Ah, yes. More time. More time with her.


	4. Invitation I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hey all!! i decided to make her my own character from here on out :) for now her name will be Apri, unless I find something more linguistically accurate... but i really do like the name Apri, so i may keep it :)  
> this last chapter i actually had to cut in two since i got carried away with the prompt, so y’all get two chapters this time!! yay!!

A few days after she chose to stay, Thranduil sent a page to her chambers with a personal invitation. Apri opened the door with a dry, enigmatic smile, dressed in a knee-length tunic and slim pants. Her belt was studded with jewels and she had taken up the habit of wearing her silvery antlered crown, but other than that her clothing seemed more for convenience and comfort than show.

“My Lady of the East, the King bids me to invite you to a wine tasting this evening. He hopes to see you in the north garden at dusk.”

She gave a kind smile and the page felt a strange numbness in his feet. She wasn’t conventionally beautiful, not by Mirkwoodian standards, but there was something about her cool demeanor that made him feel as if he were standing in quicksand.

“Tell the King I look forward to seeing him,” She responded sweetly, smiling at the rosiness in the page’s cheeks. “Send him my regards.”

The page bowed quickly and left, leaving Apriwith a bolstered mood. She had been worrying so much over the few days that she had been quite unapproachable, but her father and brothers had just sent an eagle detailing their safe exit from Mirkwood, and she had sent it back with a relieved response. They swore they would write again when they reached the borders of their kingdom, and she was already looking forward to it. She paused and frowned. Her family meant the world to her, almost as much as her people meant to her; her heart lie with them, and it felt strange to have them both so far removed.

She shook her head and smiled softly. She should focus on what was around her in the immediate moment, what there was to be happy about right then. And that was the promise of a lovely evening with the gorgeous, handsome...

She paused in shock and then fully laughed at herself. Look at her, pining away like a little elfling. Ah, well. It felt nice, to feel like that. She had heard of these feeling before, but, despite the few millennia to her name, had never felt it before. She was thankful, too— if she had fallen in love when she was still young and hot-blooded, she was sure there would have been such a mess. Then again, she had spent her young, hot-blooded years finding out the best ways to make ellons salivate for her without sacrificing her dignity or class.

Now, though... she could— and would— take her time. He was so different from the ellons back home, so alien to her, and perhaps that’s what finally brought the embers of her heart to a flame. Regardless, she now had both the experience and the level-headedness to carry herself through this strange new courtship steadily... Perhaps tonight she’d go out on a limb, so to say. Wear something a bit more feminine than usual. A ritual gown? Despite it’s decorative nature, perhaps that was too austere... But then again, it’s not as if Thranduil would share the same preconditioned opinions about the gown, as he had not been raised in her culture. And he always looked so decorated and decadent, maybe for once she ought to match him.

Why not? She undressed and took out the gown, letting the chiffon-like fabric slide over her skin, the jeweled, metallic detailing on the gown falling against her skin with a comforting weight. Normally this would only be worn to a royal funeral,a crowning, or a wedding, but she felt like being a little adventurous, and so that was what she would wear.

 

“The Eastern Princess has accepted your invitation, my King,” The page informed Thranduil immediately as he came to the throne room. “She sends you her regards.”

He hadn’t quite expected that and almost choked as he sipped on a glass of wine, though managed to smother it. He cleared his throat and set the wineglass away. He had began the drinking a little early to mellow his nerves. Legolas wouldn’t be so amused by the decision to rely on the wine for courage, but what did Legolas know of love? Nothing yet, for sure. He would learn eventually. He hoped his son wouldn’t have to live through what he lived through...

The thoughts of his first wife only made him more nauseated and ill-feeling, and he dismissed the page without addressing him. He despised thinking of the subject because the guilt and misery it bestowed upon him. Yes, the marriage had been for political reasons and not love, and while she bore his child he hadn’t quite grown to really love her... but she still went out and died by his side, still lay her life down for king and country. He didn’t think anyone ever knew that he hadn’t truly loved her, and the fact that she had made the ultimate sacrifice in his name made it impossible for him to confess. Her sacrifice had messed with his mind so severely that it drove a wedge between him and his son, the product of a one-sided loveless marriage that he could not bear to face no matter how he loved him. No matter how much he loved his son, he would always see in those grey eyes the woman he betrayed.

He swallowed hand and shook his head. Why dwell on the past? He had the present to think about. But that hurt just as much— how could he betray his wife’s sacrifice by courting another woman? Even thousands of years later, it felt so wrong.

And yet... something about Apri soothed his thoughts. He was sure that if he told her, she would have some wise and poetic thing to say to ease the turmoil in his soul.

If only he could tell her.

How could he tell her something like that? That he courted and married his first wife simply because his father told him to? And worse, that he never grew to love her or truly appreciate her at all until she chose to die for him?

His head ached. He didn’t have the energy to dress up tonight. He knew she had seen him before without his crown, but... Would seeing him so... _undone_ put her off? He didn’t wanna risk it.... or maybe he did. Last time everything had been about pleasing others; his father, the court, his wife. Maybe this time he should rely on what he wanted. Wasn’t that what is son had done? Chosen what he wanted, and followed it? Hadn’t it made him happy to follow it?

He sighed and shook his head. He wanted to be himself. He would just have to grin and bear it if she didn’t like it. He would rather have her turn him down now then fake his way into a romance all over again.

He simply rose and washed his face, choosing to stay in his casual, loose cotton tunic and straight pants. He had seen her going around before in casual clothing like this, so maybe for once they would match.

By the time he had worked all the way through his thoughts, the sun was beginning to set so he hurried out to the garden to make sure everything was in place nicely. He felt so exposed without all his grandiose jewelry and robes, but at the same time it was nice to not have the weight hanging from his form. Once he was sure the staff had arranged it how he wanted, he sent them off and lay back to try and catch his breath before she arrived.


	5. Invitation II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> part 2!! :D

She could feel eyes on her as she made her way from her guest chambers in the lower castle up to the hidden royal garden. She was so unaccustomed to dressing so decadently, but Thranduil did it all the time... so why not enjoy it? She closed her eyes and took a breath before entering the garden.

It was beautiful. Lanterns like dewdrops hung from the grand boughs of the trees, and tiny, twinkling lightning bugs flashed through the myriad of flowers that carpeted the garden between grand spaces of lush green grass. Her heart was immediately struck by the beauty— coming from the desert, all things green were magical and heartwarming to her. She almost didn’t see Thranduil sitting amongst the beautiful flowers, she was so captivated.

He felt his skin go cold as he saw her wander in. She was dressed to the nines in a petal-pink floaty gown, decked in silver chains and details, studded with tiny, iridescent blue gemstones. It was like he was seeing her all over again; and in a way he was. He had never before seen her in such a feminine way, and it stilled his heart. Her scars only made the dress all the more ethereal, like an angel of the battlefield, clad in silver armor with the silks of the sunset gracing her form...

She finally spotted him and found him clothed so calmly. It struck her deeply, to see him so relaxed; he trusted her. To her, a woman who found trust so hard to muster, it meant the world to her. His tunic slightly unbuttoned, his hair unbound. She felt welcomed, and the worries of her travels melted from her mind.

After a moment the humor of the moment came to them and they both dissolved into laughter, realizing that, in their individual bids to match each other, they had ended up mismatched anyways.

“You look comfortable, my king,” She responded smoothly, an honest smile gracing her expression. He smiled back, raising his hand to her to guide her to lie in the grass next to him.

“You look regal, Princess,” He replied, offering her her first glass. “Wine?”

She chuckled softly and shook her head casually.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

She took the glass easily and took a tiny sip as he watched, brows raised.

“Ah, how sweet...” She remarks softly, swirling the glass. “You must truly have bountiful harvests, here. The summery notes of ripe fruit fill out this wine quite well. I should like to taste your summer harvests some day.”

He smiled at her, and, without breaking eye contact, took a sip a second longer than hers.

“The summer harvests are quite nice, yes, but we have some wines that feature spring blooms. Would you care to sample that next?”

She laughed.

“As long as you have wine to share, my lips are yours to fill.”

A hot flush crossed his cheeks at her comment and she smirked, taking another sip of her wine, and, just as he had, held steady eye contact as she took a longer draw from the glass. Their exciting touch-and-go games made his heart race more than any wine could, and he threw back the rest of his glass in one go.

“Shall we speed on ahead, then?”

She chuckled and toasted to him before throwing her glass back equally vivaciously.

“Lead the way, my King.”

He chuckled softly as he poured the second glass of wine for her, now selecting the spring wine.

“Thranduil. Please. Call me Thranduil, Princess.”

“If I shall call you Thranduil, then you must call me Apri,” She encouraged, smirking warmly from behind the rim of her glass. She drank down a good third of the glass in one go and gave a sweet sigh, settling into the grass a little more, leaning back in and elbow. He joined her, sliding back further as well.

“Talk to me, Thranduil,” She encouraged as the warm buzz of the alcohol began to dance around her scalp. “Describe the wine to me.”

He laughed, shaking his head.

“I’ve drank this wine thousands upon thousands of times. This wine tasting is for you, not me.”

She chuckled, rolling her head in her shoulder for a moment. The growing moonlight caught on her neck as she did so and he felt a sudden burn in his forearms, and had to take a moment to trace his thoughts back to where he lost them— just in time to process her response.

“I want to hear you describe what I taste. Regale me, Thranduil. What makes this wine so special?”

He glanced down to the white wine in his glass and swirled it a bit as he gathered his thoughts.

“This wine is a lively white that focuses on a more flowery flavor than most,” He commented slowly, though as he met her eyes he could al ost feel her egging him on. _Go on,_ her smile whispered to him. _Tell me more._

“It reminisces of childhood spring days spent amongst the dew-speckled flowers of the forest, seeks to recall memories of young love and innocence,” He continued, feeling remarkably... calm. Serene. “The tug-and-go of growing up, though still in that hazy period of youth.”

She closed her eyes and smiled, rocking her form slightly with a soft hum as she contemplated his words.

“Wonderful. You have a way with words, Thranduil,” She complimented as she opened those heady, enticing eyes once again. “You should speak your heart more often.”

He sighed and threw back half his glass. _Young love. What a lie_.

“There are many things you would not like about my heart.”

She followed suit and downed the rest of her glass as well.

“Try me.”

He looked to her pleadingly. Please don’t make me face this. His long-lashed eyes begged, even as his brows set in a stiff line. Don’t make me tell you.

“Apri...”

She smiled.

“Tell you what. I’ll trade you a secret for a secret.” She stated calmly, not backing down. She certainly was a strong-spined woman. “Trust me, Thranduil.”

He sighed and shook his head.

“Apri. I want you to know... this isn’t something I speak of.”

She looked him in the eyes and for a moment the spoke to each other silently.

_Are you ready?_

_No. I am not._

_Alright. Next time._

She smiled and tipped her glass towards him, changing the subject smoothly, relieving him of his tension.

“Wine number 3?”

He chuckled.

“Wine number 3.”

He poured her glass and his own, and, not quite ready to give up their playful banter despite the change in mood, downed three quarters of his cup in one go. She raised a brow and raised her cup as well, drinking the whole glass in one smooth motion. He regarded her curiously, with no small measure of shock— he’d never seen a lady— let alone a royal— do that. Even he didn’t do it in front of others; usually he drank alone to drown his sorrows. But.. he had egged her on. He realized... he really knew so little about her. Did she too find comfort in the bottom of the glass?

She sighed.

“Ah, what a full flavor. Cedar... Toasty. A warm wine. Let me guess... autumn?”

He finished his glass off and chuckled.

“What a smart princess you are, Apri,” He complimented, his tongue growing loose. “I dare say as smart as you are beautiful.” She laughed, falling back against the grass fully.

“I am as beautiful as I am strong,” She countered. “Just as you are as handsome as you are mysterious, and as mysterious as you are tempting.”

He calmly poured out a rather unsteady glass of the last wine and offered it to her, hers forgotten in the dark grass.

“You find me tempting?” He questioned. She lifted herself up on her elbows, looking up at him almost sleepily as he hovered over her, propped up in his one arm.

“Did I say that?” She asked with a coy laugh, smirking at him with false haughtyness, appraising him silently between her words. “I suppose I do. I want to know you, Thranduil.”

He smiled dimly. He wanted that as well, but there were simply too many secrets between them.

“And I you, Apri.”

He paused to drink from the cup and recalled too late that he meant to give her this cup— and so he simply followed through with this singular chain of thought and leaned down, kissing the wine past her lips.

There was a tranquil moment when his lips brushed hers and the wine passed between them, and they stayed there for a tipsy moment, kissing softly in the moonlight.

But before long their common sense returned and Apri ducked her head back.

“Maybe we’ve had enough to drink.” She whispered softly. He sighed and drew away. She was right. This had been a bad idea... but still, the sensation of her lips against his was a blessing to have experienced. He only wished he could have summoned the courage to do it earlier, and without the help of alcohol. Still... she seemed to have taken it in such good humor. That could have been a disaster, had she taken it badly...

Then again, this was Apri he was talking about. When did she not take his antics well?

“I’ll be seeing you again, my King?” She stated with a smile as she stood, giggling a bit as she wavered. He shook away his thoughts and smiled back from the ground.

“Go on. I’ll stay here a while longer.”

She nodded slightly and left, her dark, hair swaying behind her as she took slightly unsteady steps out the garden. Thranduil poured himself another glass.

“I’ll see you again, Apri...” He stated to himself as he downed the glass before rising and leaving as well.


	6. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apri is stricken with a nightmare and seeks the comfort of her king.

She wakes from a dream of bloodshed and battle with a strangled cry, shooting up in her bed with a wild look of alarm and distress.

It is a good minute of panting and looking to and fro frantically before she slowly begins to realize that she had been dreaming; and yet still the terror and fear of the nightmare weigh on her.

So it is on bare feet that she throws off her silken sheets and flees her guest chambers, tears in her eyes.

Still in her night shift she grabs a night maid by the arms, almost screaming.

“Thranduil! Take me to Thranduil. Now, please!”

The desperate fear and pain in her eyes spooks the maid into action, leading the sobbing princess to his chambers.

She throws the doors open and slams them behind her, still shaking and crying.

Thranduil rises from his own bed in shock, barely clothed in a silk night robe. He is dumbfounded; he could not even imagine that Apri had it in herself to weep so openly, and with such pain.

She runs to him and throws herself across his lap, sobbing. He panicks at first but tries to remain calm for her, putting his arms around her and pulling her into the bed.

“Apri—“

“They’re dead!” She sobs. “They’re dying, my people! I saw them— I had a dream—“

He sucks in a breath and pulls her up to look him in his eyes, hair drifting into his eyes. He has his glamour down but she hardly reacts to it, as if he looks no different, and he sighs and pulls her in so that her head rests over his heart, covering the other side of her head with a hand.

“Apri. I’m sure it was just a dream.”

“No, it seemed so real, Thranduil— I have to go help them—“

“Apri!”

She slows and pulls back to look up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. It’s a strangely beautiful sight; tragic, painful, yes, but... beautiful. He had never before understood why poets spent so much time lamenting until he saw how beautiful lamenting could be. He had always seen his own grief and fear as monsterous but she had so readily brought hers to him, her tears like diamonds in her eyes. He sighed and stroked his hand over her tawny hair in an attempt to soothe her, brushing his lithe fingertips over the points of her ears. She shivered under his touch and he took the opportunity to speak.

“Apri. Be honest with yourself. If something had truly happened... would you ever reach there in t—“

He immediately knew he had spoken ill. She yanked away from his touch and let out a pained, strangled wail that twisted between misery and fury.

“I should never have stayed! Thranduil—”

“Apri!” He shouted in a panic. “Apri, it was a dream. You said it yourself. How many times have you worried over this?”

She hesitated and turned her face away. In the darkness, he could just barely make out the turn of her brow, the curve of her jaw. All stained silver with tears. He felt pain at first, but decided to trust his instinct and continue with a heavy hand at first.

“Apri, you yourself have confided in me how much you feared leaving your people,” He reminded, reaching out to push her unfettered hair over her ear. “Your fears simply manifested themselves in a nightmare. Think, Apri. Use your head, not your heart. The Ainur would not have burdened you with such bloodstained visions if you could do nothing for it.”

She shaking— no one had been this stiff with her in her life. Then again, she had never shared her midnight fears with others. At first she feels she must fight back— why would he be so harsh and sterile when she trusted him with her fear? When she had finally shown that she was not the wise and infallibly strong general she presented herself as?

But his words, harsh as they were, give her a strong answer. And she takes the bitter pill with another sob, bowing over and sobbing into her hands. He is right. He must me. He has to be...

 

Once he is sure she has come to her senses, he goes out on a limb and makes an attempt to be gentle.

“...Still. I know how much your people mean to you. To have dreamt that must have shaken your fëa to it’s core...”

She doesn’t stop crying, though, and he slowly comes to terms with the fact that words alone cannot comfort a broken heart. Or perhaps not the right words?

“...Your fear isn’t unfounded. But perhaps you need not face it alone.”

He draws her back into his arms and sighs, rubbing her shoulder fondly. He tucks her head under his chin and forces his own insecurities aside as he draws his covers and sheets back to throw them over them both.

“Stay here with me.”

Silence follows as the fabric settles over their forms, still warm from his form. He knows it is wrong of him to ask it of her, but so is it to send her back— and he would rather be unduly forward than let her suffer alone.

“Rest by my side. I will protect you.”

She hesitates and he regrets his foolhardiness— and then she leans into his embrace with such intensity that it unbalanced him and he falls back flat against the bed.

Relief burns in his blood and he turns on his side so he can pull her into his chest properly, the only sound the rustling of the sheets and their robes. This close, in the dark especially, he can feel both the sharp angles of her muscular shoulders and toned legs and the gentle, full curves of her breast and hip— he can’t help but pull her body into his, feel how it cuts into his own like they were crafted to fit together.

He remembers now, pressed so closely to someone who trusts him so, how his first wife had been to him. After their wedding night, she remaned on her side of the bed and he on his. He remembered the jealousy that burned in his heart with how she loved their babe but not truly him. Her loss had burned him, but not the way the loss of a loved one burns— it burned him with the knowledge that he had never convinced her to love him, and that by the unspoken laws of his land no other woman would seek to take her place. That he would never be loved.

But Apri... Apri is not of his people. She does not know that he would be expected to only have one partner for the rest of eternity.

He felt drunk on the trust Apri gave him. Was it ill-placed? He prayed not. He knew then he never wanted Apri to leave his side. Would she marry him, a man already once wed? He felt in his heart she would.

He slid back into the present and inhaled deeply, an unfamiliar scent reaching him. The women here all smelled of lavender and lillies, delicate flora and sweets— but her scent was sandalwood and spice, sage and myrrh. It was the scent of lullabies, deep and slow, weighing him down to sleep. His mind is filled with the tribal beat of her people, a steady thrum that beats no matter the circumstances... she is steady.

She felt comfort in the weight of his arms around her. All her life until now had been linen and leather, soldiers and constant war. This land was a dream. Peace and silk and satin sheets, all the wine she could drink... and the comfort of a king.

He smelled like royalty, he felt like royalty. Like nobility. Roses and riches, cyprus trees and forest moss. Evergreen, evergreen, how fitting for an eleven king... She knows now her dreams will not be of blood and steel. She will dream of the moss that graces the forest riverbanks, of the cyprus and cedar that flanks the safe paths through the woods. She will dream of her elven king and his wine, of candlelit picnics and ballroom dancing.

And so in his arms she dreams, nestled between the cool satin sheets and his warm silk robes in the dark of the royal chambers. She indulges herself on what he provides her. She dreams...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys... I’m really greatful for the feedback on this story. I have a plot now, and will try to update more consistently. For now... have some shameless fluff that uhhhhhh technically breaks like 3 or 4 or 10 rules of tolkien’s specific writings on elvish culture about them but uhhhhhhhhhhh......... fluff


	7. Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> soooooooo.... i’m back ^^  
> school is crazy, but i’ve officially made it into the university of my dreams on a good scholarship!! writing has been tough with all the applications and admissions events, but i have three— yes, three, where is suliel and what have i done with her, i know— that i’ll be putting up soon ^^

When Thranduil wakes, his arms feel cold and empty.

He shoots up only to find his chambers as empty and cold as his arms, and dark, even, as no one has come in to light the lamps yet.

The scent of Apri’s perfume is barely there; she left a while ago. He sits up, heart pounding too hard to even consider laying back down, and runs his hand through his hair with a sigh. To think– he spent not even one night with her company and he is already distressed at its absence.

There is a small scroll of parchment on his bedside table, bound with a peculiarly dainty leather ribbon. It is smaller than his palm when he lifts it up to unroll it, and her Sindarin print is endearingly unpracticed and slow. As he reads, he unconsciously winds her leather ribbon around his wrist.

 

Thranduil,

Thank you for comforting me last night. Please do not take my absence as rejection or distaste. I am simply unaccustomed to relying on others, and needed some time alone.

I am sure you of all people understand.

From my heart,

Apri

 

He rubbed her signature fondly, the foreign characters slightly textured under his fingertips. In the days she had been here, he had never felt more... at ease. Strange, mercurial, and foreign as she was... her presence was soothing. Someone who understood him, and perhaps even desired him in return.

He rose and dressed despite the early hour. He would certainly give Apri her space— he remembered all too well how stressful it was to want to be alone, and yet be dogged down by constant annoyances.

He began the day’s duties early, much to everyone’s suprise, and was so refreshed that he finished before noon— just in time for Apri to come sauntering in dressed head to toe in riding gear, pulling off her helm to shake out her dark hair.

Thranduil paused in place where he had been crossing the hall— save for a single, linen sash that came to her mid-thigh, her riding trousers were fitted to her lower form. A form which he had already accepted his attraction to.

Still, he had been around her enough now to not be rendered completely speechless, simply handing a scroll of trading records off to his assistant and turning to speak to her.

“Did you enjoy your morning, Apri?”

Apri beamed. She certainly looked far better than she had the night before... not that she was any less beautiful then than she was now.

“I had a wonderful morning.” She replied. “But even better plans for the afternoon, if you’ll humor me?”

“My dear Apri, the question is not if I’ll humor you; but if you’ll have me.”

Apri laughed and shook her head.

“I spent the morning tending to my steed. I thought we might go riding together.”

He quirked a brow.

“Tending to your steed? Did the stablehands not take care of it?”

Apri laughed evasively.

“...Well, I don’t ride horse or elk. They... did their best, but I had to give some extra pointers.”

He smiled, curious.

“Well, I’d love to meet your mysterious steed...”

He saw a twinkle of hope in her eyes and decided to play around a little.

“But hmmm... I’m not sure I’ve finished my duties for the day.”

Her face fell a little.

“Oh, forgive me, I’d forgotten–“

“– I jest. I am free.”

She realized he was just pulling leg and gasped in exaggerated offense.

“My king! To think you would play with my emotions so shamelessly.”

He chuckled.

“Now I ask you to forgive me. I could not help myself, as they say. Now, give me... let’s say, an hour, and then we shall be off.”

Apri nodded and smiled.

“I’ll wait for you at the gate.”

Thranduil nods to her and disappears deeper inside; Apri turns and strolls back out the gates, going to lean over the edge of the bridge and wait for his return.

 

The air is sweet and fresh— it is a truly glorious day, still balmy even with the noon sun bearing straight down. There is a pleasant breeze that rustles the leaves on the trees, and Apri closes her eyes and inhales deeply. She misses the soft feel of sand under her feet and the strong, arid winds of her home, but the cool, rich fragrance of the forest makes it worth missing.

She loses herself in the tender melody of songbirds and rustling leaves, and starts at first when she feels a lithe, bejeweled hand slide over shoulder.

She twists suddenly, but all she sees is Thranduil’s marble-carved features and sapphire eyes, his starlight-spun hair and secretive smile.

“Lost in the forest?”

He paused to rest next to her, the breeze causing his hair to drift around him weightlessly. Apri smiled, but didn’t turn away from him to look back out to the forest as he did. She was perfectly content to look at him. Of all the beauty of the west... she felt his the most worthy of admiration.

“It’s hard not to. Lose yourself, that is. In the forest and...”

He glanced back at her and she smiled openly.

“...the inhabitants.”

In that moment he can’t help but remember the weight of her lips against his, the taste of sweetened wine; her lips, now, in the blazing noon sunlight, are the rich, dark color of Dorwinion, and sorely tempting. He has to struggle to withhold himself from taking her noble face between his palms and kissing her freely— the guards may act like they aren’t watching the two royals, but they are.

“I am glad to hear.”

Apri shivers. Unless her ears betray her, his voice has dropped slightly. He offers her his arm and she takes it as he begins to guide her to the stables.

“Have you had any chance to ride since you came here?”

Apri shakes her head.

“No. At first, the peace talks had me so busy I could hardly leave the conference room,”

He nods along. He remembers it all too well, how she would stay long after everyone else had left, thinking things over once, twice, a thousand times.

“And then... I was... indisposed, with you.”

He almost laughs, and covers it by clearing his throat.

“Well, then, I shall show you my favorite riding paths.”

Apri smiles and nods.

“I look forward to it.”

They turn the corner at the stable doors and Thranduil is immediately taken aback as a thunderous bleat almost deafens him, a mass of red fur thrusting forward and butting at Apri.

Apri laughed and spoke in her native tongue, soothing the colossal beast.

“What on Arda is that?” Thranduil asked in mild shock as the stable hands brought him his readied elk. Apri laughed.

“It is a camel. A red camel, to be specific. The only kind of steed that can traverse the deserts of the East.”

It looked at him with a rather judgemental gaze from behind impossibly thick and long lashes before—

Apri clapped her hand over the camels mouth as it reared up to spit, laughing.

“Shamlal no!”

The camel bleated again and nudged Apri’s hand.

“I’m sorry. Shamlal is just playful. He likes you, I promise.”

Thranduil laughed.

“No harm done. These ‘camels’, are they very fast?”

Apri tended to Shamlal, saddling him while he nibbled at a tray of alfalfa.

“Not very. Slower than most horses, on average.”

“Then why not ride horses?”

“Here, look at Shamlal’s feet.”

She beckoned him over and gestured to Shamlal’s hooves— soft and wide.

“If a horse tried to run in sand, it’s small, hard hooves would sink, and it would break it’s ankles. Camels are better suited to sand, and can sprint better across short distances. They have better endurance, too, and require much less water.”

She patted the beast’s long, shaggy neck with a smile.

“Some say a camel can go months without water. I never make Shamlal go more than a week if possible, though. He is a red camel, and bred from the best for a royal.”

Thranduil nodded.

“Will... Shamlal be alright, on forest terrain?”

“He doesn’t really like it, but I have boots for him and he knows better than to go against his princess’s wishes.”

Shamlal huffed and bobbed his head.

“Now then, shall we be off?” Apri offered with a smile.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Thranduil made a show of mounting his elk without having it kneel, his riding cape fluttering behind him as he gracefully leapt up onto it’s back. Apri smirked and, not to be shown up in anything, wrapped one arm around Shamlal’s neck and flipped herself onto his back. Thranduil laughed and reared his elk before leading their small group into the forest.


	8. Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter 2/3 from the quick dump :)))))) the plot is starting to form shshhdhdhd i’m so bad at this please love me

The path gives way easily, vines and branches that would have been in the way slowly drawing back to reveal a clear path as the King made his way through.

He glanced over at Apri— her steed had an uneven, swaying gait, but she rode it with a natural-born balance and grace, swaying along easily. She met his gaze and smiled, nudging Shamlal to shoulder Thranduil’s steed slightly. Thranduil laughed.

“Easy, Princess.” He teased. “It wouldn’t do well to upset your host.”

She gave him a proud smirk, looking down her nose at him as she spoke.

“Like I could ever upset you.”

He shook his head, looking away.

“Of course. You could never.”

They rode on in silence for a time before Thranduil finally stopped, Shamlal immediately going to gorge himself on the sweet grasses and fragrant blooms that carpeted the hollow space on the trees.

“How beautiful.” Apri commented. “It reminds me of the oases of my home.”

There was indeed a small spring at the center of the clearing, the water clear and bright.

“This is one of the sources of the streams in Greenwood,” Thranduil explained as he tied his elk in place. “I thought we might stop for a time, here.”

She turned back and smiled at him.

“I would love that.”

She strolled up to the center of the clearing with grace and purpose and knelt at the edge of the spring.

“Don’t just watch,” She teased as she stretched out before him, closing her eyes to bask in the afternoon sun. He followed suit but didn’t lay back all the way— the last time they had reclined together like this...

His skin grew warm, and it wasn’t entirely due to the sun.

“Ahh, I could get used to this.” Apri commented softly as she settled into the sunwarmed grass, eyes closed blissfully.

“Why not?”

Apri’s eyes flew open and darted to him. He almost bit his tongue.

“I... have to go home eventually.” She commented back slowly, almost pained. “I can’t stay forever. You know that.”

He sighed and looked off into the treeline.

“...I know. Still...”

He could barely hold himself back, unable to stop himself from at least reaching out to caress her cheek.

“...I find myself so drawn to you that I wish you could.”

She met his gaze and didn’t push his hand away, nor did she reciprocate the touch. Her eyes searched his for a few moments before she closed them and took a deep breath.

“You will be my undoing, King Thranduil.”

“I shall endeavor to make it as painless an undoing as possible, then.”

He leaned over her and pressed his lips to hers, closing his eyes to drown himself in the sensation of the moment. Her cheek was warm to the touch, her lips full and soft...

Apri’s heart twisted and at first she simply lay in place and accepted the gesture without returning it— but his fingertips were as cool and refreshing as the first zephyrs of spring on her skin, and his kiss as gentle and needy as a lily awaiting its first rain, so she turned her face to his and returned his affection with a quiet acceptance.

The notion that she had willingly returned the gesture brought a groan to the king’s lips and he sought to deepen the kiss, parting his lips and wordlessly begging her to do the same.

Her warm, svelte hand drifted up to first cup his cheek and then sink into his candlelight locks, sending tingles across his skin as she kissed him back as openly and passionately as he kissed her.

They remained in the clearing embracing each other until dusk set in and Apri pulled away.

“Do you love me?”

He met her gaze for a few moments and sighed, leaning back in to kiss her neck.

“If I knew what love was, I would answer you.” He murmured against her tanned skin.

“Do you want me?”

“More than anything on Arda.”

“But you can’t have me.”

His grip on her tightened for a bit and he shivered, his forehead resting against the curve of her neck.

“Yes. And I am not used to not getting what I want.”

She took her hand and guided his face back to hers, resting her forehead on his.

“I am. ...But perhaps we can compromise.”

“I would compromise anything for you but you.”

“I know your people would not accept you marrying a second time.”

He froze. She knew? For how long had she known? Just recently, and that’s why she invited him on this trip? All along, and let him fall in love with her regardless?

She sat up all the way, cupping his face in her svelte hands, her eyes pleading.

“Come with me to my kingdom. Marry me amongst my people, and when you return appoint me as ambassador of my people amongst yours. Then we can be together amongst my people and yours, with shame from neither. I am willing to carry the burden of regularly traveling between our two kingdoms to be with you.”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t! Leave his kingdom, even for this? He could not even bear the thought! Leave the safety of the forest, travel to the barren wasteland she called home...

“Thranduil please. I can think of no other way.”

His next words felt impossibly slow as he spoke them, as if his mind resisted his speaking them.

“I... will think about it.”

Apri looked hurt, but... that’s all he could give her. He felt eaten up with guilt. She was willing to sacrifice so much to make this work— she had already left her people, she wasn’t demanding he make their relationship public to his people, she was willing to be the one who travelled to maintain their courtship. But after all he had faced and had to deal with each time he had left his own people, he couldn’t fathom traveling that far even for a short time. He wanted to apologize, to beg her forgiveness for being so unreasonable, but his pride choked him to silence.

It seemed that every relationship had its pains.

Apri leaned in and pressed a bittersweet kiss to the crown of his head.

“I will wait. But not forever.”

She then rose on her own and he was reminded all too well of her strength, her independence. He knew with absolute certainty that no matter how much it would hurt her, she would leave him if she had to. She was not dependent on him in any way; if she wanted, she could mount Shamlal and leave that very moment. For the first time... someone had power equal to him.

“Come, my King,” She offered, smiling once more and offering him her hand. “It is high time to return.”

He took her hand as he rose, his heart aching at how well her hand fit his. He wanted to make this work. He wanted her. But it wasn’t going to be as easy as just letting her submit to him— they’d have to meet in the middle, and he’d be lying if he said that didn’t unsettle him at least a little.


	9. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When ill news is received, will Thranduil be able to keep up with Apri’s reaction?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ho boy is this more of an undertaking than i remember. y’know, i always intend to write slowburn because it’s my favorite thing to read.... but like.... i can’t just sit on the plot, y’know? i gotta get it out there,,,,, even if it ends up rushed and messy? yeah, ouch, anyways, yay melodrama!

The next few days are slightly tense, but Apri never denied him comfort or affection. And he sought her comfort and affection whoever he could— every secluded alcove was a chance for a fond embrace, every empty hallway a moment to share a sweet kiss, every private dinner and solo riding trip an opportunity to take her hand in his and calm his aching heart. She never brought up the discussion they had again, but he could see how her eyes chased the eastern horizon at every opportunity. Her time wasn’t free for him to take, it was a priceless gift she was choosing to give him.

A gift that she paid all too well for.

They are laughing over breakfast one morning, and Thranduil can’t help but lose himself in those confident, deep eyes, bold and wild as she tells him stories of her training, her battles.

“I wish you were there, Thranduil, the High General’s face when the elfling princess knocked him on his head in front of his entire tribe was priceless!”

He laughed.

“I can imagine. And did you step on him, too, to cement his utter defeat?”

“I wish I did. To be honest, I was just as surprised as he was. I think I just gave a victory shout and threw my staff at him.”

“I suppose that was repayment enough for what he said t—“

A guard burst through the doors with a scroll of crude leather in hand, frantic.

“Urgent message for the Eastern Princess!”

Apri shot up so quickly her chair knocked over and she snatched the missive from the guard with enough force that Thranduil was surprised it didn’t rip in two. He rose slowly, heart beginning to race.

“What is it? Apri?”

Her eyes skimmed the scroll and her expression wavered.

“Apri? ..Ap—“

She screamed suddenly and turned and ran out of the dining hall violently, kicking the heavy oak door open so forcefully that it split down the middle.

“Apri!”

Thranduil raced after her but she had already vanished— in was only by following the path of shocked elves she left in her wake that he was able to track her to the stables, where she was hurriedly dressing herself in armor.

“Apri, by the light of the Silmarils, what has—“

“Read it. I don’t have the time to tell you!”

She thrust the letter at him, leaving him to read it as she mounted and raced off on her camel.

It was written in the tongue of the Easterlings, and he was slow to translate it, but eventually he was able to understand.

 

General Apri

Your people were weak without you.

They fell easily.

You will never see them again.

 

The message was stained with weeks old blood, and tangled up in it was one of her brother’s royal sigils, the chain of the necklace stuck thick with blood.

His blood ran cold. Had her dream really been true? Had exactly what she had feared really occurred?

...Had he caused the death of her kingdom with his selfishness?

“APRI WAIT!”

He ran out of the stables after her, but it was too late. She was far out of earshot already. He swore and ran back into his kingdom in a panic, summoning politicians and captains and his personal guard. He couldn’t let her go alone— it was his fault—

 

Apri could hardly see her path through her tears. She had packed nothing by way of food or drink, only her armor and weapon. She should have been there. To guide her people to victory, or to have died with them! She would make it up. She had made a fatal mistake, and she’d pay it back with her life.

Her heart hurt. She knew, deep down, that neither she nor Thranduil were really to blame— but that didn’t stop her from hating herself and bitterly regretting how tempting the elven king had been.

 

“FIND THE PRINCESS AND FOLLOW HER!” Thranduil shouted to his men as they finished armoring up and mounting. It had been what, two, three hours? If it were anyone but Apri he would have been sure his guard could catch up. But he had inadvertently already taught Apri all the secret paths that single riders could take through the forest, that his entire guard could never follow through. She might as well be days, weeks ahead.

But he was going to catch up.

He was.

He wasn’t losing her.

He grabbed one of the guards nearest him by the arm fiercely.

“You! Break off. Find my son, tell him I’ve put him in charge.”

“My King?”

“I will not return until Princess Apri is found and safe!” He shouted angrily. “No matter how long it takes!”

The guard nodded and peeled off as the main group started down the main road out of Greenwood, their energy tense.

It took two days for them to ride to the border down the main road and a third to backtrack to the exit of the secret trail Apri had taken— Apri had three days on them, but what had she said? That her ride couldn’t go as fast as the average horse, so the elk of Greenwood were sure to be able to outrun her. The question was just finding her trail.

And there was none.

Thranduil swore. The solid, grass-carpeted ground was unable to hold Shamlal’s soft hoof prints for three days. The only sign of her having even used that path were a few tufts of camel hair caught on the branches framing the path.

“Sir, the elk need rest,”

Thranduil looked up. Sure enough, even his own elk was tiring, it’s grand head lowered slightly as it huffed to catch it’s breath. But he couldn’t afford to stop! She’d gain another night on them, he was sure. _Camels_ _excel_ _in_ _endurance_ _where_ _they_ _fail_ _in_ _raw_ _speed_.

But what was he going to do, ride his elk to death trying to catch her? They could cover more in one day than she could— they’d still catch up. Just not as quickly.

“Fine. We rest for one night.”

He’d worry about how he would find her trail in the morning. For now, he’d just worry about her.

He wondered if he should have brought his entire army. It would have been ten times slower, but if her people had really been overrun...

And should he have just let Apri go? She was strong, wasn’t she, and wise enough to know when she was outmanned? Couldn’t he have just left it to her...

No.

 

He’d done what had to be done. If her people were gone, he wouldn’t waste time on avenging them— his small group would just take Apri and any survivors to safety. And if, by some miracle, they weren’t, and it was just some kind of sick trick, at least her people would see that he genuinely cared for their princess and their alliance.

He clenched and unclenched his jaw. He was so afraid. He couldn’t keep her wrapped up and safe, hidden in his castle, and that angered him. He wanted her safe. Wanted safe her with him, and no one else.

He thought back on her ‘plan’— well, he was already on the way to her kingdom, though it may be too late to be married there. He should have just gone with her when she offered because now it was too late, and he might have lost her completely!

Sleep is no friend of the restless, and so while his guards and their rides rested, he remained awake and thought in circles until the sun rose.


End file.
